If Ur Asking For Kinktober Requests... Dick Grayson Or Roy Harper... Maybe Playing With Some Ropes...

if ur asking for kinktober requests... dick grayson or roy harper... maybe playing with some ropes... maybe a little hate... maybe overstimulation... maybe edging... idk just throwing out ideas im feening

-🎀

dick hated when he had to be the bad guy. he hated when you’d run your mouth and be a brat, because that was just proof that you couldn’t be the good girl he knew you could be. he’s seen you on your best behavior before, so why couldn’t you just stay that way?

maybe if you could hold the title of his good girl, you wouldn’t have a rope that’s tied your hands on either side of the bed posts. maybe if you didn’t run your mouth at dinner, you wouldn’t have your own cum dripping out of your swollen cunt from fingers alone. maybe if you apologized instead of being a brat, throwing around words you didn’t mean when you got home, dick wouldn’t be sat on his knees between your legs, nasty smirk pulling at his lips as he watched you squirm with flushed cheeks.

brat taming was something dick didn’t know he had the ability to do, that is, until he met you. the man was used to women falling under his every word without a complaint or say so. that’s how it always has been. he didn’t know women had the ability to have the mouth that you did.

"two words, princess," his voice was rough and mean. have you never heard of an apology before? apparently not by the way you shake your head and refuse to meet his eye, groaning out something instead.

dick’s cock was becoming excruciatingly hard, and his own strokes of his hand weren’t cutting it. he wasn’t going to fuck you until you apologized, half-promised that to himself when he’d opened the door to his home. but, he had his own needs too.

his hands sit on either side of your torso, knees underneath your thighs as he teasingly brings his length to rub against your folds and clit. never pushing inside, but pushing himself past your entrance with help of your wet slick.

overstimulated and fucked out, you whimper and whine underneath the man. unknowing if you want his cock to fill you up or if you want nothing to do with him at all. your body can’t decide when you attempt to writhe away from him, but your pussy flutters while doing so.

"two words, fucking slut," he reminds, hot breath fanning your face. he lowers his head, pressing a rough kiss to your cheek in which you attempt to move away from. "c’mon, be my good girl. y’know i don’t like being mean to you baby."

the sweetness of his words almost make your guard fall, wanting to turn and lock your lips with his. but you don’t. instead turning your head to scrunch your brows at him and pull your lips back. "’m a good girl, you’re just dumb," you say, words ending in a whine at the feeling of dick’s tip pushing against your clit.

dick’s teeth find their way into your neck, sucking a dark purple hickey and then pulling back with his cock in hand. his eyes never leave yours as he pumps himself a few more times.

and then his tip reaches you again, only this time he pushes only the beginning of his length inside of you as you squirm and moan below him. he thinks it’s cute, the way you’re helpless until you say the two words he wants you to say.

"wanna be a slut?" he questions, letting only his tip fill your entrance. his eyes move down to watch the way your cunt’s reacting, attempting to suck it inwards despite your nasty words.

with one fluid and fast motion, he bottoms out in you. the entirety of his length filling you up and kissing the sweet spot inside of you. dick doesn’t care for the moans or whines you give. doesn’t care that your hands are balled into fists and pulling on the rope he tied tight.

"i’ll fuck you like a slut then."

omg can we have I know places with sweet Jason Todd?

they are the hunters, we are the foxes - jason todd x reader

You press your lips to Jason's, fingers working to wrap his wound quickly as you swallow his whimpers, and you finally let go, making sure his wound is tightened properly.

Jason blinks at you through the mask on his eyes, the yellow from his Robin suit bright against the darkness, and your eyes beg for him to stay quiet.

The sound of a gun rings in the distance.

"I'll distract them." You whisper. "Get on the roof in the meantime."

You race out of the alley, and Jason watches, eyes wide, unable to be torn from your figure as you run right, the group of criminals racing after you, yelling that the first to get their hands on you would get to have you before your death, and his stomach churns uncomfortably.

Yet, he listens, grappling to the roof where Batman eventually finds him, and he whispers to the Bat to save you, his eyes fluttering shut from exhaustion, the adrenaline finally rushing out as he collapses into Bruce's arms.

He doesn't see you again, but sometimes he wonders what happened to you.

1989 event

thinking about make up sex with jason and he’s being so gentle while saying the filthiest things :< you can’t help but to forgive him

tags: fem reader, breeding

"gonna raise that fuckin' voice at me again?" a gruff voice takes you out of the trance you're put under. the trance that was jason's fat cock filling your entrance at a slow pace that was enough to make you go crazy. the long and slow strokes a reminder that, even though the argument you two had prior was filled with hatred, yelling, and ugly words, he still loved you... but it wasn't his fault he loved your pussy too.

with his lips grazing your ear, pulling his cock out only to push back in as far as he's able, you shake your head. "never," you groan, hands attempting to reach around his frame, but he's just so big that you're unable.

he moans a "mhm," into your ear, turning just so that he's able to bite your lobe, licking the shell. "y'know nobody's gonna fuck you like i do baby," a reminder to the words you said in the heat of the moment, the words that told jason you could leave anytime you wanted. that the sea was far and wide and you could take your pick whenever you'd like.

but, just as he knew he wouldn't want somebody else's pussy carved into the shape of his cock, you knew you'd never find somebody who knew your body the way that jason did.

"nobody knows this sweet pussy like i do," he reminds with another long stroke, this time he's pushing your thighs back with big palms. so that, as if it wasn't before, his swollen red tip hits that part in you that makes you scream. and, as if clockwork, a loud, "j-jason! just you. j-just for you," falls from your lips as you moan against the hot skin of his shoulder.

"’n who do ya love?" he grunts, holding still as his cock’s sitting in the deepest parts of you. his cock pulsating just as the muscles surrounding it and keeping it warm do the same, begging for movement when he comes to a halt.

"you! you, jason, y’know i love you," you whine high pitched and all, grabbing him and pulling him while your hips try grinding against him.

and he doesn’t say it back. he doesn’t need to, you know he loves you with the way he shoots his seed deep into your core, deep enough that there’s no possibility it won’t take <3

in your hands | jason todd

Summary: Jason thinks he's too big to be loved. You show him that that's impossible.

Pairing: Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings/tags: bathing together, sad jason, brief dissociation, i hc jason to have body dysmorphia and i wanted to explore that, non sexual nudity, washing your partner, bruce angst, hopeful ending.

A/N: as always, if you like this fic, tell me through comments and reblogs :)

the divider

Tonight, Jason comes home far away.

You clock it as soon as he walks in. He’s moving on autopilot: boots by the door, helmet on the shelf, gear in the closet. He washes his hands, hangs up his jacket, and then he stands at the doorway. And waits. 

You’re never quite sure what he’s waiting for. But you know that he’ll stay stuck in his head if you don’t step in. 

“Hey, baby,” you say, cupping his cheeks. “Hey. You wanna eat or clean up first?”

The change is instant. As soon as you touch him, Jason is there. You’ve never mentioned it to him. It frightens you too much to explore, knowing that you’re his tether. You don’t want to think about what that means, having the power to anchor a man who used to be dead.

He looks at you, meets your gaze head-on.

“Did I disappear?” he whispers.

“Little bit. It’s okay.”

You keep stroking his cheeks, avoiding his shaving cuts and the freshly split lip. There’s a bruise around his eye and on his temple. 

“Wanna wash up,” he finally says, but his hands cling to your waist. 

You pet the back of his neck. “Want me to go with you?” 

“Please?” He glances at the kitchen. “But if you’re in the middle ‘f something, then—”

“No, Jay. C’mon.”

You take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom. Jason undresses while you draw a bath. Soon the bathroom starts to fog up with steam. You pour in some Epsom salts for his muscle aches—you know he should soak more than he does. 

You turn off the faucet. Jason is in his boxers, staring at himself in the mirror. He picks at his autopsy scar, presses the puckered white flesh until it turns red. 

“Jay,” you say gently. “C’mere, honey.”

His hands drop to his sides. Jason goes to the bath, pulls off his underwear, and sinks into the water. It’s a generously-sized tub. Jason had gotten his old tub replaced for a larger one after you’d mentioned that you liked baths. Soon enough, you’d introduced him to the wonders of hot baths for his sore muscles. 

Even with its size, Jason still has to bend his knees slightly to fit. He pushes himself up easily. A little water sloshes over and dampens the edge of your shirt. Jason curses.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. 

“It’s okay, honey. You want me to come in?”

He nods. You pull off your shirt, then your pants and underwear. Jason folds in on himself to make room, but you stop him.

“I’ll just sit between your legs, Jay. No problem.”

You step into the bath. Jason holds your wrist so you can sit down without slipping. He stares at his hand on your arm after you’ve sat. 

You reach over for a washcloth and pour a lightly-scented soap. You lather it up first, then rub it over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. Jason is perfectly still. 

“Can you lean over, baby? So I can get your back.”

Jason obediently leans over. You smile at him as he holds himself up with his core. You know Jason’s not just strong, that he’s agile too. He’s very good at wielding his body.

You wash his back. This close, you can see the contours of his muscles, how broad he is. 

When you’re done, you wring the soap out of the cloth and cup water in your palms to rinse the suds off of his skin. You catch his gaze in the mirror across the tub. Jason turns his head.

“God, look at me. How are you not afraid every time I come stompin’ around?”

You stop pouring water and rest your hands on Jason’s biceps. “What do you mean?”

He scoffs. “I’m like a huge, fuckin’... monster. Too big, too loud. I’m—” He swallows, bows his head. “How can you look at me?”

“Jay, honey. You’re not a monster.”

“Bruce thinks so,” he whispers, and straightens. “He can barely look at me. Every time he does, ‘s like he doesn’t even recognize me.”

His hand quietly swishes through the water to claw at his autopsy scar. 

“This is all I am. Just violence. ‘M too big for anything else.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull his head into your chest. Jason hugs you back. His shoulders begin to shake. 

“You’re more than your body,” you say. “You’re more than what the Pit made you. What you were.”

He shakes and cries into your neck. “I was small. People loved me when I was small.”

You pick up his head. Jason’s eyes are thick with tears. You lean in and kiss his Cupid’s bow.

“I love you.” You brush away his tears with your lips. “I love you so much, Jay. That’ll never change.”

“Too big for it,” he rasps.

You shake your head. “No, Jaybird. You’re never too big to be loved.”

“I’m s-scary.”

You kiss his temple, rub between his shoulder blades. Jason clings tighter.

“You don’t scare me. You never have.”

He pulls you closer, so you’re chest-to-chest. You straddle his stomach with your legs and hug Jason as tightly as you can. 

“I was good when I was small,” he says. “I don’t–I don’t know how to be good anymore. I wanna be good, I do. I don’t want Bruce to think I’m bad. I’m still good.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “Oh, Jay. Baby. You are good. You came back to make a change. You’ve always been good. You’ve got a good heart. Nothing’s going to change that. Bruce is stubborn and stuck in his head. But you’ll always be his son. And you’ll always have people who love you.”

“What if I’m not worth it?” he whispers. “What if I’m too lost?”

“Then I’ll go out and find you. And we’ll come home together,” you say. “You’ll always find your way back home.”

He smells like soap and Epsom salts. You kiss his autopsy scar. Jason shakes more. 

“Let me wash your hair, baby,” you say.

He nods, tears on his lashes. You wet his hair and pour shampoo. You rest your lips on his cheek as you lather the shampoo, detangling tiny knots with your fingers. Jason bends at the waist so you can rinse off the soap with the faucet.

You tap his hip and Jason sits up. He slips his arms around you again and tucks his chin into your neck.

“Don’t let go,” he says, suddenly desperate. “Don’t–don’t let me go.”

“I won’t, Jay. I’m right here.”

going to a tree farm with jason because he once mentioned how bruce used a real tree every christmas when he was younger. he says the smell of pine around the house comforted him when he was a child, and alfred used to make him hot cocoa while he did his homework beside the fireplace. it's an off-handed statement, and he didn't mean for the idea to worm its way into your brain. still, it did, and so you insist on getting a real tree this year as a way to bring his past and present together. 

hand in hand, you walk through aisles and aisles of trees, searching for the perfect one; the abundance of green and the foresty smell of pine, almost overwhelming. you lean over, gently taking a branch in your hand, a soft hum escaping your lips as you search for a sign that it's a good contender. but after a couple of seconds of running your fingers over the needles, you sigh. "you don't know what you're looking for, huh?" he asks, and you turn your head towards him, a sheepish grin on your face. he just draws you back by the shoulders with a laugh. "it's alright. i'll help."

leading you by the hand, he weaves the both of you in and out of rows of soon-to-be christmas trees. it takes a few minutes, but he finally stops at a beautiful eight-foot-tall specimen, pointing out the shape, branch density, color, and smell. he tells you it's nothing you need to remember, but you make a mental note of the light in his eyes when he's explaining to you what makes it perfect. 

getting the tree up the six flights of stairs to your apartment was difficult but surprisingly not as difficult as getting it to stand up. jason holds it up while you screw it into the tree stand, adjusting screws over and over again until he can safely back away from it without holding his arms out in fear that it'll fall over. you crawl out from under, a smile on your face as you admire how perfectly upright it is, tip almost touching the ceiling; and you take a step, moving forward to separate the branches but jump back when you feel something sharp under your foot. needles. lots of them. 

he sweeps them up while you grab the ornaments you'd been keeping in a spare closet. last christmas by wham plays in the background, and a pot of cocoa boils on the stovetop, waiting to be seasoned with a dash of cinnamon just the way he likes it. "need any help?" he shouts, tossing clusters of pine needles in the trash. "no!" you shout back, pulling down boxes of glass bulbs and bobbles; but you still hear his footsteps as he treads down the short hallway to you, and grabs the box of decorations from your hands. 

he looks down to see a mess of red. frosty red spheres, red birds, red metal engraved with his name and yours, et cetera. red on top of red on top of red, and he looks up at you, the beginning of a smile playing on his lips. "what? too on the nose?" you ask. he just shakes his head with a laugh, turning away to set them down in the living room before helping you with the rest. “at least tell me you’ll break up the color scheme with some silver tinsel.” he says, taking another box from you, this time red glass stars. “sorry," you say holding up a long line of sparkly red string. "the tinsel’s red too.”

oh my god off anon is so embarrassing but congrats babygirl!!! a milestone!!! My guilty pleasure is like... a spit kink n i gotta request DC as the fandom <3 I honestly do not know what song I would fuck someone to but I have exes by tate mcrae on loop rn so maybe that for a concept 🤔 but idk if I had to choose I would fuck to oh my god by gidle. That song just screams sensual sex... congrats again bby!!

you know who would love spitting in your mouth cressie? none other than mr. dick grayson himself.

c'mon, he already can't get enough of himself as is, so when you ask him to spit on your tongue, he gets hard like a light switch. he doesn't even wanna fuck you yet, because he knows he'll get too lost in the feeling of you. dick will finger you while he lets a big fat glob of spit fall from his to yours, etching your face in his memory as he does so. he makes sure to remind you of the slut you are, to ask something so vulgar of him afterwards, maybe will help clean his spit up on you with his own tongue <3

xi’s 1k event!